


now i’m here

by retts



Series: that’s life, innit? [2]
Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Surgery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-29 08:29:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17200085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/retts/pseuds/retts
Summary: It’s like cotton is stuffed into Dele’s ears after that, the world around him muffled and blurred and so, so fucking slow. Or maybe that’s Dele, his limbs heavy and clumsy as he tries to leave, tries to get to hospital, tries to text EricWtfonly his fingers slip all over the screen, trembling so hard the iPhone nearly falls from his grip.





	now i’m here

**Author's Note:**

> fuck this was such a bitch to write! i was so close to tears by the end of it because i honestly started to hate this a little and it’s only 4K!! i only wanted to write a simple hurt/comfort thing but it would just not end! ~~watch me post my xmas fic in time for valentine’s~~
> 
> i like parts of it but not all. will edit it some more when i wake up in a few hours. 
> 
> i hope you, at least, will enjoy this, dear reader. 
> 
> also, it’s been quite a while since i’ve been in a hospital setting so *waves magic wand* artistic license 
> 
> also (2x) my head canon is that dele is really soft for eric and eric is really soft for dele and they are just soft + their usual back and forth, i can’t stand you (but please be a huge part of my life) dynamic
> 
> fake names for eric’s parents but forgot to do the same with his sister lol

 

Dele’s not sure how he gets to hospital, truth be told. One moment he’s in the changing rooms, haranguing Eric through text for not replying to his messages asking him how he’s doing (and is he not lucky to have a boyfriend who cares so much for his well being?) and the next Poch is telling the team that Eric’s gone into emergency surgery to remove his appendix. It’s like cotton is stuffed into Dele’s ears after that, the world around him muffled and blurred and so, so fucking slow. Or maybe that’s Dele, his limbs heavy and clumsy as he tries to leave, tries to get to hospital, tries to text Eric _Wtf_ only his fingers slip all over the screen, trembling so hard the iPhone nearly falls from his grip. There’s a growing noise in his head, louder than his own panicked heartbeat, going eric Eric ERIC _ERIC_ -

When Dele plays, it feels as if time is sifting through molasses: the run up to the ball, the swing of his foot, the arc of his body jumping in the air, and then, like a shot of pure adrenalin, the world erupts into noise and heat and speed as his foot connects with the ball and the ball slams into the back of the net.

‘We’re here,’ says Harry, and it _is_ Harry driving; Harry who must have helped him get out of practice early and brought him to - Dele blinks up at the sign - St Thomas’.

For all of the urgency building up in Dele to get a fucking move on, Dele stays where he is. He looks down at himself, still in his sweaty training kit, mud and grass on his boots. He can’t just swan inside and demand where Eric Dier’s room is. He’s not family. He is, ostensibly, the best friend.

A hand touches his shoulder. ‘Del?’

Dele looks at Harry’s worried face. ‘I can’t.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I _can’t_. They won’t allow me inside. We’re - Eric and I - the hospital probably won’t let friends visit yet. He’s still in surgery, isn’t he? I can, we’ll come back later with the lads.’

Harry watches him for a while and Dele brings his thumb to his mouth, worries the nail. His knee jiggles and he sneaks a glance at the hospital entrance. People rush in and out, civilians and doctors and nurses in scrubs. It feels like they all know Dele is stalling outside whilst Eric is _inside_ , and the only thing Dele really knows is _‘He’s in emergency surgery’_ (the gaffer, looking more grim than usual, like someone’s been given a red and they have a London derby to win next). Those words always mean something _not good_ and what happens if Dele does go inside and someone tells him _I’m sorry but Mr Dier has_ -

‘Dele, breathe, come on,’ and it’s Harry leaning towards him, eyes intent and eyebrows arrowed down between them. Dele stares back at him in a panic, breathing harsh and loud in the car. He tries to calm himself down and fails. He bites his lip, fingernails digging into the soft flesh of his palms. Harry breathes slow and deliberate, and Dele mimics him, narrowing his focus down to the air rushing in and out of his lungs.

Harry squeezes his arm. ‘That’s it, it’s fine. Eric’s going to be okay, you know that. I spoke to his sister and she said Eric phoned the doctor before his appendix could burst, and they’re doing the operation to prevent that, so it’s not as bad as you think.’

Dele turns towards Harry, eyes wide. ‘Are you sure?’

A crooked smile flickers over Harry’s mouth. ‘Of course I am. Would I lie to you about something like that, mate?’

Dele shakes his head and rubs a hand over his brow. ‘No, sorry, you’re right. I’m overreacting.’ He unclenches his hand around his phone and sees a new message from Daisy. His heart leaps. Dele unlocks his mobile and brings it close to his face. ‘Oh,‘ Dele lets out an explosive breath, ‘Eric’s out of surgery and it went well. He’s still in the recovery bay, and they’re waiting for him to wake up.’

 _Are you coming, Dele?_ she asks at the end of the message.

It stings that she would even have to ask that, but Dele still hasn’t left the car, has he? Eric’s been sliced open or punctured or cut up or whatever it is that doctors do to someone in the OR theatre and Dele is fretting whether it would be improper to be seen running to Eric’s side like a lovesick idiot, too harried to even change out of his training gear. _It doesn’t matter, does it?_ Dele asks himself as he sits up and grabs the door handle again.

The thing is Dele is terrified out of his mind. He left Eric in bed earlier, feverish and curled up in fitful sleep, and all Dele had done was place a glass of water and a packet of paracetamol on the bedside table. Then he’d left, not even thinking how something much worse could happen to Eric because it was only a badly-timed flu. Dele had been too preoccupied about possibly catching the virus and being benched for the next few matches to notice that Eric might have something worse than a infection.

The least he could do is be there when Eric wakes up. Dele finally opens the car door and slips out, looking over his shoulder when Harry calls his name.

‘Put this on,’ says Harry with a wry grin, tossing out a dark blue hoodie through the window for Dele to catch, ‘so you can try and be a little inconspicuous. I’ll drop by ‘round the house to feed the dogs - Daisy’s orders - and come back with a change of clothes. Need anything else, mate?’

Dele shakes his head, immensely grateful to have Harry in his corner. He didn’t even think about the dogs. Dele waves the car away and heads inside the hospital lobby, asking for the directions to the surgical wing. Dele ignores the recognition on some of the faces he passes by, pacing himself not to break into an outright run. Dele opens up Daisy’s text and reads it again but the anxiety swirls in his stomach, making it feel as if he’s in stoppage time of a match he’s been losing for the last ninety minutes.

He finds the surgical wing and then the private family waiting room the Diers are in. He knocks and Daisy opens the door, her face pale but calm.

‘Hi,’ Dele says when he closes the door behind him, squashing down the impulse to scuffle his boot on the lino like a kid caught doing something naughty. ‘Sorry I’m such a mess, I was at practice...’ _and I just had to come, no matter what._

Daisy’s smile grows warmer as if she hears the unspoken words. ‘It’s fine, Dele, we’re glad you’re here.’ She ushers him inside where Mr and Mrs Dier are sat on the sofa. He’s greeted by wan smiles and a hug from Mrs Dier, then told about the latest update on Eric. He’s fine for now, like Daisy’s message said; he’s stable which means his blood pressure and other vital signs are normal though he has to stay an hour or two in recovery for further monitoring before he can be wheeled into the private room that Spurs has booked for him, like it’s just another hotel for them to check-in to in a different country. The surgeon removed the appendix through keyhole surgery and if all goes well, Eric may be discharged in a few days and back to fighting form in a few weeks.

It seems impossibly easy to Dele, and by the looks on their faces, the Diers, too. Surely there’s more to worry about, complications and the like. Dele doesn’t know much about medical issues aside from the ones that come with football. He opens his mobile and Googles appendectomy, reading the NHS article on appendicitis and then the surgery.

‘Well done, Diet,’ murmurs Dele when he comes to the part where it says to phone the GP should the pain worsen.

Daisy glances at him, and then at what he’s reading. She gives him a small smile. ‘He’s lucky he caught it before it burst.’

Dele clicks on the link about complications and immediately wishes he hadn’t. It’s horrifying to think about what could have happened if Eric had decided to grin and bear the symptoms. Dele puts his phone away and takes a deep breath, his leg jiggling. No one tries to make small talk as they wait. Dele pulls up the hood over his head and crosses his arms over his chest. His fingers tap against his bicep.

Dele takes out his phone again and opens the team WhatsApp conversation and is met by a barrage of questions and well wishes for Eric. Dele tells them Eric’s still in recovery but surgery went well and watches the replies come one after the other, almost too fast to follow.

 _Sorry about leaving like that_ , Dele types, chewing on his lower lip. They all rush to reassure him it’s fine but Dele knows he’ll have a talk with the coaches, at least. He exits that thread and brings up his and Eric’s instead, scrolling through their latest messages which ends with his unread texts from today.

_I just nutmegged Moussa three times, it’s almost too easy._

_Practice is boring without you but don’t tell the coaches that!_

_You’re lucky to be indoors, it’s fucking cold out here._

_It’s good to know that you’re finally sleeping like a baby._

_Text me when you’re up. Don’t forget your medicine, don’t want to listen to you moaning about it later._

_I bet my lunch is worse than yours. Try and guess what we’re having._

_Please eat something. Even toast will do. Do you want something specific for tea later?_

_Oi, Dier. You’re ill with the flu, not dying. Eriiiiiiiiic!_

_Eric?_

_I’m phoning in an hour if you haven’t replied to any of my 123618282 messages by then. I don’t care if I wake you up._

_Wtyf Erric_

_I’m extremely angry with you for scaring me like this, Eric. Get better soon, alright? I love you, you stupid man._

Dele’s thumb hovers over the screen, heart in his throat, before he sends it to their chat. He doesn’t know where Eric’s phone is - probably with his family or manager - but he wants Eric to read it as soon as possible and take the piss out of him (‘Ooh, Delboy, I didn’t know you love me this much’ or something silly like that.) He glances at the time on his phone. Roughly an hour to go before he can see Eric, touch him and actually believe that he’s alright.

‘Do you guys want anything from the canteen? Tea? Coffee?’ Dele asks as he gets up, needing to do something with the nervous energy rushing through his system. He pats the pockets of his hoodie and is relieved to feel his wallet inside.

‘Oh, no, dear, don’t worry about us. We should be the ones offering,’ says Mrs Dier, brushing her fair hair from her face. She looks at her husband. ‘Should we buy something? We haven’t eaten since lunch.’

Mr Dier looks at his watch. ‘Do we have time?’

Dele shakes his head, suddenly mortified. ‘No, no, I can get it, please.’

Mr Dier grunts as he gets to his feet. ‘Nonsense, you shouldn’t be running about in that kit of yours. Mary, what should we get? The boys are on their way, too.’

Mrs Dier grabs her purse and slings it over her shoulder. ‘Those three are always late. Tell them that Eric’s dogs need to be fed before coming here.’

‘Uh, Harry’s on that,’ says Dele. ‘He’ll be dropping by later, if you don’t mind.’

Mrs Dier gives him a tired smile. ‘Of course we don’t, Dele. Thank him for us.’ She reaches up and pats him on the cheek, looking truly grateful, and Dele feels like he just ordered them out or something. He watches helplessly as they leave the room, Eric’s dad squeezing his arm on the way out.

Daisy lets out an amused huff behind him. ‘Don’t worry, Dele, you actually gave them a reason to do something.’

‘They should be here,’ says Dele.

‘They need a moment away to gather themselves, find a distraction before they worry themselves sick. They’ll be back as soon as Eric’s out. What about you?’

Dele sits back down and avoids her gaze. ‘What about me?’

‘You look like shite,’ she says bluntly.

Snorting, Dele tugs on his fingers. He shrugs. ‘It’s a lot to take in. Eric was just at home with a virus and suddenly - ’ Shrugging again, Dele gestures at the room he’s in. ‘You never think something like this would actually happen. And we have so many matches left this month and Eric’s important to the team, you know? We can hardly afford to lose him and.’ Dele lets out a grunt and rubs a hand over his mouth. ‘Listen to me, going on about football when I ought to be worried about _Eric_.’

There’s a moment of silence, edging on uneasy. Dele glances at Daisy out of the corner of his eye. He’s always been intimated by her and he knows she doesn’t completely approve of his relationship with Eric. The Dier family is quite protective of their own, especially Eric whose grown away from them. And here comes Dele, the usurper, greedily stealing all of Eric’s precious time away from them. Sometimes, late at night, Dele thinks they’re merely biding their time until Dele gets relegated back to best friend.

Slowly, Daisy places a hand over Dele’s own, stilling his movements. ‘I’m sure Eric will be fretting over football soon enough. And you don’t have to - I know you care about him, Dele. No one is questioning that. There’s no question at all, full stop. He’ll be really happy to see you out of everyone here, if I’m being honest. He hardly shuts up about you, you know. It’s quite embarrassing.’

Dele ducks his head, mouth curling in a small smile. He often wonders if Eric talks to his family about him and now he has an answer. Dele doesn’t usually spend time with Eric and his family - finds the whole loud, happy family dynamic painfully awkward - and Eric knows him well enough not to force it. Maybe Dele should change that soon.

‘Eric won’t like that you’re spilling his secrets,’ says Dele, straightening up in his seat to meet Daisy’s gaze.

She puts a finger to her lips. ‘I won’t tell him if you don’t.’

‘Deal.’ Dele glances down at his hands, curls his fingers and turns them over and sees the dirt under the nails. ‘Do you reckon I have time to head home and shower before Sleeping Beauty decides to - ’

There’s a knock on the door and a nurse pokes her head in. Dele and Daisy are both on their feet in an instant, Dele’s pulse spiking with fear. He searches the nurse’s face for any sign of bad news. There is none: she’s smiling softly, though her eyes widen a bit when she spots Dele.

‘Hello, Mr Dier’s been moved to his room. You may see him now, though he’s still asleep from the anaesthesia. Dr Grant will be by shortly. If you’ll follow me.’

 _She’s like a secretary_ , Dele thinks and makes a mental note to tell Eric that later, he’ll find it funny. He and Daisy follow the nurse up another floor to the private rooms. Dele balls his hands into fists inside his pockets. He doesn’t know what to expect, can’t picture out the details of _he’s fine_ other than Eric still breathing.

The nurse stops in front of a door and twists the handle, opening it but staying outside as she gestures for them to go in. Dele and Daisy look helplessly at each other and then at her.

‘He’s still sleeping, like I said, but he’ll wake up soon. He may still be a bit groggy and there will be some pain, but that’s normal. We’ll have meds for that,’ the nurse says, calm and patient. Up close, she looks tired but still manages to smile at them with some amusement in her eyes.

Dele murmurs his thanks as he slips inside after Daisy. The lights are on and Dele’s heart stutters in his chest when his gaze lands on Eric on the bed, looking so frail and colourless that it cannot possibly be the same man who likes to lift Dele up on his shoulder and throw him on the bed for fun. Dele bites the inside of his cheek as he looks down at Eric, then pulls his hand out of his pocket to run his fingers very gently along the back of Eric’s, stopping before he reaches the IV needle inserted into his vein.

‘Oh, Eric,’ Daisy murmurs as she strokes his forehead.

Eric doesn’t stir. He’s too still. Even in sleep, Eric is full of movement, curled on his side one moment and then spread out and stealing Dele’s bit of the duvet the next; he snuffles and sighs and mumbles throughout the night. Right now, the loudest sound is Dele’s blood rushing through his ears. (He’s standing in front of the goalkeeper, the ball at his feet, a goal away from victory.) He licks his lips and lets out the breath he’s been holding.

The blankets are pulled up to Eric’s chest, arms out, right hand hooked to the IV. Dele knows the incisions, as they’re called, are on his abdomen. They’ll eventually scar and something Dele will be able to trace over and over once they’re healed. For now, he can’t see it, does not want to see it. Instead, he only wants to look into Eric’s blue eyes.

They stand on either side of the bed simply looking down at Eric. Dele’s fingers twitch and curl around the edge of the mattress, almost desperate to touch some more but self-conscious with Daisy right there.

‘I’m going to call Mum and Dad,’ says Daisy after clearing her throat, trying to be discreet as she swipes at her eyes. Dele feels a pang of guilt; he actually forgot about them. They should be the first ones to see Eric. Daisy takes one last look at Eric before she quietly leaves the room. Despite himself, Dele is glad for this moment alone with Eric. His heart aches to see Eric like this and Dele carefully takes Eric’s left hand in his own, pressing down a kiss to his knuckles. He stares at Eric’s face, dear and familiar, gentle in sleep. All he wants is to see that face scrunched up in a scowl. Or bright with a smile. Eric has the best scowls and the best smiles.

‘Fuck,’ says Dele, wiping the tears from his eyes. ‘Damn it, Diet. Wake up already. I miss you.’

Eric’s fingers suddenly twitch. His eyelashes flutter, then open just barely.

‘Eric,’ said Dele, leaning down to kiss Eric on the nose, the cheek, his dry lips. ‘Oh, God, _Eric_.’

‘Del?’ He sounds confused, his voice hoarse. He tries to move and then moans in pain. It plucks right at Dele’s heartstrings.

‘Don’t move,’ he says, placing a hand on Eric’s shoulder. He brushes his knuckles along Eric’s jaw. ‘You just got out of surgery. Does it hurt a lot?’

Eric blinks and opens his eyes more. He looks around the room before settling on Dele. His gaze is soft, unfocused. ‘You’re crying? You’re...hurt?’

‘Idiot,’ whispers Dele, placing an elbow beside Eric’s head so he can curl over him like they’re hugging. ‘You’re the one who’s hurt, not me. Scared me half to death, Eric.’

‘I did?’ His eyebrows furrow and his gaze grows sharper. Lines of exhaustion bracket his mouth. ‘My appendix,’ he says, reaching towards his abdomen. The IV tube twirls with the movement, stretching out, and Dele grabs him by the wrist.

‘Don’t,’ he says sharply, then clears his throat. ‘You might pull it out.’

Eric sighs and does as he’s told, tipping his head back a little with his eyes closed. Dele still has a hold on his left hand, and Eric twists his fingers until they are interlocked. Eric’s palm is clammy and Dele would normally make a joke out of it but he can’t get the words past the lump in his throat. He’s going to start sobbing like an idiot if he doesn’t distract himself so he reaches for the plastic chair near the window, only he has to drag it by hooking his foot around one of its legs because he refuses to let go of Eric. The chair scrapes across the tiles and Eric blinks awake again, turning his head to look as Dele plonks down heavily on the seat.

Eric’s eyebrows lift in surprise. ‘You’re in your practice kit.’

Dele self-consciously plucks at the front of the hoodie. ‘Er, yeah.’

‘How’d that happen?’

‘You really don’t remember, do you?’ Dele scoots closer towards the bed, his ass hanging off the edge of the chair. ‘I’m not so clear on your end, actually, but I only knew you were in surgery because the gaffer came in and told us.’ The question is on the tip of his tongue, _why didn’t you tell me about what happened to you?_ but he knows it’s an unreasonable thing to ask.

Eric squeezes Dele’s hand, a feeble touch that still manages to calm the agitation stirring in Dele’s chest. ‘I meant to but everything happened so fast, Del. It was frightening,’ Eric admits, glancing away briefly, the corners if his mouth tugging that much lower.

Dele shakes his head, immediately contrite. ‘Yeah, it must have been. I was scared, as well. We all thought you only had a virus, for Christ’s sake. I read up on it, it must have hurt quite a lot.’

Eric looks back at him, the smile on his face growing, if not wider, then softer. ‘You read up on it? You’re still in your kit _and_ I can smell you from here, Delboy.’

Dele bites his bottom lip, feels his cheeks heat up. Eric tugs on their clasped hands and Dele moves even closer, his elbows perched on the bed. The small smile on Eric’s face makes Dele roll his eyes but he can’t help the answering tug on his lips.

‘What?’ he asks, grinning.

‘Nothing, I’m happy you’re here.’

‘Where else would I be, Diet?’

Eric doesn’t say anything, just looks at Dele with tired eyes that are still somehow bright with affection, and Dele feels the rest of his worry melt away. (For now: there will be days and weeks when Dele will fret, will shudder free from nightmares that keep him up for the rest of the night, one hand on Eric’s chest to feel his heartbeat.)

Dele kisses the back of Eric’s knuckles and keeps his lips there. He wants to climb all over Eric the way he usually does but this will do for now.

The door opens and Daisy comes back inside. Dele stomps down on the impulse to pull away from Eric and stays where he is instead, their interlocked hands on full display.

‘Sorry, am I interrupting something?’ asks Daisy, her smile knowing.

Dele shakes his head. ‘Not at all. I’m just watching this lazy arse stay in bed, nothing different from being at home.’

She sits on the other chair, her hand on Eric’s shoulder. ‘Eric, how are you?’

‘Like I went through open surgery,’ says Eric with a wince. ‘I need lots of care and attention.’

‘Don’t be a prat, they did it keyhole,’ says Daisy, ‘just four measly cuts. Right, Dele?’

Scoffing, Dele frees his hand and leans back in his seat, arms crossed. ‘My hamstring’s giving me more trouble than that.’

‘What? Dele - ’

‘Yeah, no, I’m obviously taking the piss, mate.’

Eric groans and shuts his eyes, lifting a shaky hand to cover them. ‘Fuck, I’ll be out until next year, won’t I?’

‘Looks like it,’ says Dele, sharing a quick grin with Daisy. Worrying about football already.

‘Bloody hell! Stupid appendix.’

‘Mum and Dad are coming back soon, you better not be moaning about missing football when they do,’ warns Daisy, pinching Eric on the arm.

Eric frowns at her. ‘Yeah, alright.’ He turns towards Dele and gives him a stern look, only with his current condition, it comes out soft and worn and much like his dogs when they want a belly rub. ‘You and the lads better win every match until I come back.’

‘Then we start losing?’ asks Dele, tongue in cheek.

‘Fuck you.’

Dele laughs and takes his mobile out of his pocket, swiping the camera open. ‘Eric, smile for the boys.’

Eric grimaces and Dele snaps the picture. His smile turns lopsided when he looks at it, Eric on the bed looking grumpy and much more awake than earlier, but still obviously ill. He slaps the weeping emoji on it to make it better and sends it to the Spurs and England chats, reading the replies on both out loud when they come.

‘That reminds me, where’s my phone?’ asks Eric, interrupting Dele’s dramatic reading of Marcus and Justin’s inspirational messages for Eric’s speedy recovery. ‘Oh, my dogs! Who’s taking care of my children?’

Daisy pulls Eric’s iPhone out of her bag and fills him in on what’s happened since he went into surgery. A new chat pops out with a chime and Dele opens it.

H: How is he? How are you?

D: Fine. And fine now that he’s awake.

H: Good. Tells us when it’s good time to come round, yeah? I’ll bring the rest of the boys.

D: We’ll be like sardines in here.

D: Bring UNO.

Dele looks up as the door opens again and Mr and Mrs Dier hurry inside carrying paper bags that smell heavenly - Dele’s stomach growls - followed by a doctor in scrubs. Dele gets up, focus sharpening as the doctor flicks through Eric’s chart and asks him all sorts of important-sounding questions. He’s about to lock his phone when he remembers something. His thumb flies over the screen as he types.

D: And grapes, please. Eric loves grapes.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> feedback is good for my soul <3


End file.
